Dear Dad

Dear Dad, I’ve never written anything about you, And I am sorry. But I know that No poem could ever say the things That I have always meant to say to you, But never did. But never will.

I remember the long walk We took on a starry night, And you told me that all the stars in sky Were just burning masses of gas, And not dead people looking down at us, Because they cared too much. I never looked up at the sky When my best friend died Four months before he was Supposed to turn eighteen, And tried to find him in the stars.

Dear Dad, The first time the eight-year-old me Told you that she was scared of crossing roads, You left her hand, And asked her to do it alone. Thank you. Thank you, for not being like the fathers Who clutch their daughter’s hand tighter Only to let go of it When they turn sixteen, Because sixteen-year-olds aren’t allowed to be Scared of crossing roads.

Dear Dad, The first time you found A box of cigarettes in my room, I told you that it belonged to my friend, And you said that you believed me. But I know that you didn’t, Because I saw you shaking your head As you left my room, And I closed the door behind you.

I am glad that you said nothing When you noticed The crisscrossed scars on my wrist, Because I would have broken into tears If you had asked me why, And you hated seeing me cry. You still do. I couldn’t tell you that Every time I slept, I woke up an hour later, Drenched in sweat, Unable to breathe, And the blades were the only friends I had.

Dear Dad, I know that I never talk to you anymore, And it hurts me as much as it hurts you, But what hurts more, Is that you never try either. I know, I know that eighteen-year-olds Aren’t supposed to sit beside their fathers, And talk about how Life loses its meaning after the thirteenth heartbreak, But that is what I want to do. And you know it as well as I do, That I’ll never do that.

Dear Dad, You know what’s the saddest part about this poem? That no matter how much I want to, I will never tell you that I wrote a poem about you.